


we're both in love with what hurts

by hellwheelers



Category: IT (2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, and funny at first but it gets angsty, band au, eddie bill ben and stan are in college, idk where im going with this pray 4 me, richie mike and bev are in a band, this is very gay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-08-09
Packaged: 2020-08-10 17:51:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20139538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellwheelers/pseuds/hellwheelers
Summary: Eddie couldn’t look away.And then, the leader singer stepped forward to the mic and began singing, and Eddie knew he was going to fall in love with this person someday. It was a deep feeling in his chest — or was that the reverberation of the bass? — that hummed in his throat, making his fingers tingle. A full body shock that never really went away, only dimmed down to a buzz before flaring up again. He saw how concerts could be addicting, then.The lead singer looked up, a grin-smile plastered across his pale face, and Eddie sucked in a breath. He looked out across the crowd, tapping his foot to the beat and looking around the open room. He didn’t seem scared one bit, confident and doing a small dance to his own beat, lost in the music. He had caught Eddie’s attention, and the longer he looked, the more he was drawn in. The dance of his fingers on the guitar, the contours of his face from the harsh, direct lighting on his face. His hair, bouncing and shifting with each movement. He was like —Well, frankly, he was like something straight out of Eddie’s dreams.He justhadto open his mouth.





	1. you don't like my clothes but you still like my smile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from scrawny by wallows !!

By the third or fourth call, Eddie was snatching his phone from the bedside table, answering it by jamming his finger against the screen, and all but yelling, “what the _fuck_ can I do for you?” He hadn’t even looked at the caller ID — he didn’t need to, because Stan was the only one who would blow up his phone. 

On the other end of the line was none other than Stanley Uris, douchebag extraordinaire and, unfortunately, Eddie’s best friend. He laughed obnoxiously from the other end, probably raking his hand through gelled, tight brown curls and smacking Bill. From the phone, Eddie could hear three distinct voices he knew well, all yelling over each other in an attempt to get speaking rights. Eddie couldn’t understand a single one of them and was considering ending the call until they got their shit together, but Stan spoke.

“Hey, yeah, so uh, I know you’ve got a super important — shut the fuck up, Bill — a super important _test_,” there was the sound of Stan distant leaning somewhere to smack a giggling Ben, “tomorrow, but we’re going to this concert tonight and we have a ticket with your name on it.” Stan spoke as if he’d done some holy, unrepayable task for Eddie, but it was more of an inconvenience. Still, Eddie groaned and shut his laptop. They wouldn’t take no for an answer, and he didn’t have the energy to sit there and fight with all three of them. It ended the same every time.

“You know if I fail this test my mom will kill me, right? _Kill me_,” Eddie’s voice became strained and high-pitched as he tugged clothes from the floor and attempted to throw an outfit together. That was as close to a ‘yes’ as he’d get. Sure, he would go, but he’d complain the whole time and make it a living hell for his friends. Not like that’d change anything, they’d still drag him to events and group outings.

“Cool, cool, ‘cause—” Ben, who’d probably taken Stan’s phone, became muffled by his own yelps and yells, “—we’re coming up to the room right now.” He finished his sentence, the sound of Stan and Bill talking animatedly filling the short silence instantly. Before Eddie could even think to reply with a confirmation, the call was ended and he was left to get ready.

True to their word, the trio entered the apartment a little over five minutes later, filling the quiet rooms with hollering and off-key singing of what was assumed to be the band they were seeing. Eddie rolled his eyes and huffed, tugging a pale pink, almost-too-big button up over his head — he never unbuttoned shirts, just unclasped the top two buttons — and tucking it into black pants. Both articles of clothes were slightly rumpled from being on the floor, but Eddie wasn’t going out to impress anyone. Thick, wavy black hair was pushed back and out of his face, neat with a hint of messy. Eddie hopped on one foot out of his room while tugging on his low-top platform Docs, stumbling into the wall opposite his room. 

“Fuckin’ hell Eddie, calm the fuck down,” Stan chirped from the kitchen, words followed by the heavy slam of the fridge door. Yeah, like Stan had room to talk.

“Shut _up_, as if you don’t slam every fucking door you see. Maybe you wouldn’t be so angry if you got laid,” Eddie snapped, pulling a loose strand of curly hair as he passed. Stan hardly dignified the sharp words with a response, used to Eddie’s attitude. 

On the other side of the wall separating the living room from the kitchen, Bill and Ben were watching a video and giggling to themselves, pointing at the phone between them. Eddie snorted, but took a moment to glance over his friends’ outfits. He wasn’t even told who they were seeing or what kind of music it was — he hadn’t even considered this when throwing clothes on. 

Stan, ever the fucking gay, rolled up the sleves on his beige t-shirt, tucked into tan jeans — slacks? — with a brown belt and slightly dressy shoes; Ben, bless his heart, had on a thick looking green patterned sweater over brown corduroys with white sneakers; Bill had a plain white t-shirt — typical, Eddie thought — with black jeans and blue flannel, stupid fucking white Adidas in place over white socks. He never took those shoes off, Eddie reminded himself. Each of his friends wore their different styles, so he went with it, choosing to remain quiet about their wardrobe choices. Who gave a shit, honestly.

“Are we getting this fucking show on the road or what?”

—————

The way over, Stan had the audacity to fucking _blast_ music by the bands playing at the concert. All three of them screamed the words the songs, dancing like idiots in the limited space of the car. Thankfully, Stan kept his eyes on the road, but he didn’t need to be quiet to drive.

Eddie almost rolled out of the car to end his misery. Almost. The entire short ride to the venue, he considered the likelihood of being able to sneak off and go get food during the concert, staring out the window with unfocused eyes. Maybe he could enjoy himself? Join in on the fun? Almost immediately, he shot that thought down and continued plotting. He wasn’t about to pussy out, though, because he’d never hear the end of it. See, Eddie already knew how this would go. Stan, Bill, and Ben would run off into the crowd, push their way as far to the front as they could in an attempt to get barricade, leaving Eddie in the back of the venue to sit on his phone and hate his life. Usually, he starved during the process as well.

As per usual, Eddie was right. They sat in the line to get in for a little under an hour — forty-five minutes, maybe? — before they were filing in, smiling widely. To his own surprise, Eddie was grinning with them as well. Maybe the night wouldn’t be so awful, he thought in a sudden spur of optimism. Walking between Ben and Stan, they passed a couple booths with merch out for the bands playing, the biggest showing off hoodies and CDs for the main act; other, smaller stalls showed less, but still enticing merch. 

The venue was smaller than usual, with a shitty little bar against the far wall and stage towards the back with a large neon sign aggressively shouting the name of the building. The lighting was relatively low, which Eddie didn’t mind, though it made him a bit tired. At the stage, people were already gathering. Once they saw this, his friends were quick to surge forward, chattering excitedly and all but leaving Eddie behind. They didn’t even look back, knowing Eddie would follow if he really wanted to.

The brunette rolled his eyes and wandered between the stalls, looking at each piece of apparel and the small pins scattered on the tables as if he were at a museum, observing fine paintings from the 1800s. He would pick up a pin, shift it this way and that to admire how the different colored lights caught on the enamel surface. The shirts all seemed well made, probably some well-known brand like Gildan, soft to the touch and in a variety of colors and styles. The long sleeves with text up the arms caught his eyes usually, and he was lucky to find one band — The Losers, he noted with a laugh — had one in black with red text all over. If he wanted it when the concert was over, he decided, he’d get it. No harm in getting a souvenir. 

For now, he would take long, slow strides to the bar area, where he definitely wasn’t allowed under normal circumstances, and sat in the chair. Fuck it, there were _toddlers_ sitting on the high stools with their parents. A college student could sit at the bar. Without a word, the bartender set a plastic cup of water down and continued to pour drinks. Immediately, Eddie pulled out his phone and scrolled through every social media he had, distraught that everything was dead. Just his luck.

If anything, he could possibly listen to some good music. Stan’s DJing in the car hadn’t been too awful, so there was still some hope left.

Much to Eddie’s surprise, the first opener was more indie-acoustic than anything. Usually, his friends attended high energy, pop sounding concerts. The act was a solo one, one person on stage with an acoustic guitar, and she was good. Obviously new to the business, having no crew, but she was good. Her voice was soft and sweet, dripping over the crowd like honey, lulling them to hush. Not exactly concert material, but the crowd seemed to enjoy it anyhow. She was shy, hardly addressing the crowd much, aside from announcing the name of her songs — all original, no covers. Eddie was impressed. Apparently she was local as well. Funny, he’d never seen her. The town wasn’t exactly big enough for it to be impossible, and his friends’ concerts usually featured local openers. She must be _really_ new. 

The second act’s stage was, for the most part, already set up. The backstage crew had probably set up the drums, guitars, and all the lighting for them before the concert even started. There wasn’t exactly much preparation needed for the act before them, considering she had merely plugged her guitar in and adjusted the height of the mic, so the band was quick to arrive to the stage.

A tall, skinny guy strode out onto the stage, and the crowd went wild — mostly girlish screams and cheers. His mop of curly, unruly black hair was a messy, formless silhouette against the red lighting that bled from behind him. A girl with a shock of startlingly bright ginger hair, cut into a short bob, walked on stage next, swiftly pulling the bass guitar into her arms and settling the strap over her shoulder. Then, a clean cut guy walked to the drums, nearly as tall as what Eddie assumed was the lead singer. His beeline to the drums made it hard for him to make out any defining features. He couldn’t see any of their faces, but he could almost feel the smiles on their faces, the energy they exuded, their excitement. It was contagious, even from the back of the crowd. A soft strum began their set, no announcement needed. They had the crowd’s attention.

Now curious, Eddie watched each band member fall into an easy, slow rhythm. Fingers tapped along the necks of their guitars, hands sliding along, the sharp tapping of wooden sticks on the metal of the drumset. No words had even been said yet, and it wasn’t even the main act, but the crowd was energetic and seemed to catch onto the beat. A few scattered yells and jeers rose from the crowd. 

Eddie couldn’t look away.

And then, the leader singer stepped forward to the mic and began singing, and Eddie knew he was going to fall in love with this person someday. It was a deep feeling in his chest — or was that the reverberation of the bass? — that hummed in his throat, making his fingers tingle. A full body shock that never really went away, only dimmed down to a buzz before flaring up again. He saw how concerts could be addicting, then.

The lead singer looked up, a grin-smile plastered across his pale face, and Eddie sucked in a breath. He looked out across the crowd, tapping his foot to the beat and looking around the open room. He didn’t seem scared one bit, confident and doing a small dance to his own beat, lost in the music. He had caught Eddie’s attention, and the longer he looked, the more he was drawn in. The dance of his fingers on the guitar, the contours of his face from the harsh, direct lighting on his face. His hair, bouncing and shifting with each movement. He was like —

Well, frankly, he was like something straight out of Eddie’s dreams.

He just had to open his mouth. 

All thought of ‘oh fuck he’s attractive’ left Eddie when _Richie_, as he addressed himself, spoke. He was annoying as shit, overly confident and cocky, and yeah, okay, maybe he had a reason to be. There were girls losing their minds over him, holding out things to sign and phones to take selfies on. Anyone would have a confidence boost at that. The girl, bassist — Beverly — was more tame, offering a sheepish smile and a small wave. In the back, without a mic, the drummer stood up and waved both his arms excitedly as Richie introduced him as Mike. Their band name was The Losers, and Eddie decided then that he wasn’t going to buy the shirt that he really liked, which only gave him more of a reason to dislike this Richie guy. Eddie grimaced and tried his phone again, glad he had found it was more active. Apparently 9 p.m. on a Thursday was peak posting time for Instagram, and also the time when Twitter decided to crawl from its cave of shame. For the better half of the concert, Eddie scrolled through his phone, answering Snapchats and DMs — mostly group chats on Twitter and replies to his Insta stories. It was rough being the funniest guy at his college. People just ate his jokes up.

For the last half of their act and the entirety of the main act’s, Eddie’s attention was set on his phone. 

—————

The thing Eddie hated most about attending concerts with his friends was that, without fail, Bill always managed to “catch feelings” for one of the band members and wouldn’t leave until he got to speak to them. Bill, who would be killed by his own horniness someday, absolutely begged for his friends to go see “that drummer” as he called him. He didn’t even know his name and yet he was already drooling. Typical.

“H-he was brillia-ant, s-s-stunning, amazing up close, Eds. Y-you don’t even understand, I have to meet him or-o-or I’ll die,” Bill spoke quickly, stuttering, but not as prevalent as it could’ve been. Apparently, it had been much worse when he was in middle school, but Stan and Eddie didn’t know him back then. Bill was the only one of their friend group to have known him. It came and went, depending on how he was feeling, and clearly he was excited. Anxious, maybe. 

“Then die,” Eddie said, scowling at him. He was tired, still needed to study, and most importantly, he was starving. “I’m fucking _hungry_ and I’d rather not starve, thank you very much,” he snapped, following his friends like a lost puppy. He was hoping they’d just leave, walk right past the booth he knew they were going to, but they stopped. Eddie wanted to cry.

Evidently, Bill didn’t care if Eddie starved, and Stan gave him an apologetic look over his shoulder as they approached the booth of The Losers. Eddie audibly groaned, but leaned against the table nonetheless. The small group surrounded the both, and Eddie pretended to busy himself with looking at the pins. He had been stopped in front of that cocky bitch of a singer. The pins were the same as when he’d looked through them the first time. The long sleeve was still there, taunting him. 

Eddie had been unfortunate enough to catch the lead singer’s eyes when he looked up at the shirt, and Richie grinned. From further down the table, he could hear Stan and Ben chatting with Beverly and probably the manager, and even further down the table, Mike was smiling softly as Bill fought through his stuttering. His face was flushed, whether from the heat or being in the presence of someone attractive, but he seemed to be faring well.

Unlike Eddie.

“Hey, I don’t think I saw you in the crowd,” Richie’s voice was raised above the buzz of conversation all around, leaning against the table of the booth with his palms flat. Eddie could see his nails were painted black, chipped from where he probably bit them. His eyes followed the sleeves of a black checkered, oversized button up to where he was — dear God, he was pretty much smirking. Did he think that would work on Eddie?

“Yeah, that’s because I wasn’t,” he stated blandly. “Don’t try that shit on me,” Eddie groaned, standing up straight. He saw Stan turn his head, shocked, to look at his best friend. 

Richie didn’t look fazed, though. “Kids got a sharp tongue, huh? You don’t kiss your mom with that mouth, do you?” He was still grinning.

“I’m not a fucking kid. You don’t kiss your mom with that shit-eating grin, do you?” Eddie fired back.

“No, but I kiss your’s,” Richie was smiling widely with that one, obviously extremely proud of himself. Eddie stared back at him with an annoyed, exasperated expression. Did the lead singer of an up-and-coming band just make a _“your mom”_ joke? He wanted to cringe.

“You’ve got to be shittin’ me right now,” Eddie’s voice was similar to his expression, eyes squinting.

“You’ve got a weird thing with _shit_, dude. Do your friends know that? I think they should know. Anyways, I’m Richie. Y’know, the lead singer of the most amazing band this town’s ever seen? Most people just call us The Losers, though.”

Down the table, Mike was holding — Bill’s phone. A look of shock flickered over Eddie’s tanned face, eyes blinking rapidly a couple times so he could be sure he was seeing it correctly. Bill had actually scored? Like, Bill Denbrough, the bastard child of their little friend group? Eddie gaped openly. 

As if he knew Eddie had witnessed his one-upping of him, Bill slid a quick glance to his friend, accepting his phone back with a sweet smile and a casual brush of his fingers against Mike’s arms. He probably made some comment about how “drummers have the nicest arms”, even though there were at least two layers covering his arms, between the sweater and the button down. 

Bringing his attention back to Richie, Eddie’s attitude switched. Bill wanted to do this right now? He wanted to challenge the most competitive person in their group? Eddie was game. And he wouldn’t lose.

“I’m Eddie Kaspbrak, it’s nice to meet you, Richie,” he offered sweetly, hesitant smile on his face. Richie stared at him for a second, eyes wandering over his face before he reacted.

“Kaspbrak, that’s cute.” Richie was still grinning, but there was a hint of a flush to his face. Maybe that was just the lighting from the lights? Eddie didn’t think on it too much, shooting a look over to Ben and Stan, who were watching him with a combined look of confusion and probably fear. They knew where this was going.

“I’m fucking starved. If you don’t have to… y’know, tour or whatever, wanna go grab a bite?” Eddie asked casually, not making too big of a deal out of it. Richie, with a split-second shocked look, nodded and raised a finger as if to say ‘one second’. 

“Bevvie, I’m goin’ out for a bit. Put the key out for me?” He seemed to plead, cheeky grin in place. The redhead rolled her eyes and nodded, but smiled nonetheless. With a quiet, “yes”, Richie snatched up a wallet from somewhere near the back of the booth and walked around the side.

Over his shoulder as he walked past, arm brushing against Richie’s, Eddie looked to a shocked Bill with a cocky smile, flipping him off and mouthing, “suck my fucking dick, loser.”


	2. stalling only goes so far when you've got a head start

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is brought to u by my own personal experience of denny's at 3 am  
kinda a shorter chapter !!  
chapter title is from are you bored yet? by wallows

When it really came down to it, Richie was attractive and Eddie would definitely date him if he just _never opened his mouth again_. He made crude jokes — like Eddie and his friends didn’t? — and had a habit of singing off-key on purpose even though he was literally the lead singer of a band. He had done so during the entire walk to the diner. 

Sitting in the little 24-hour diner, they had slid into the uncomfortable booths across from each other and immediately picked up their menus. Richie, because he was starving, and Eddie, because he didn’t really feel like talking. Eddie, raised to be a gentleman, had thanked their server when she introduced herself and offered to grab them waters. Across from him, Richie was picking at a thumbnail with his teeth, scanning the menu from his other hand, and leaning against one leg propped on the booth seat. He was hunched over, with awful posture and a screwed up face of concentration. 

“Strawberry pancake puppies? What the everloving fuck are those? They sound kinda good,” he admitted. Eddie rolled his eyes in response.

Another beat of quiet passed before Richie slapped the laminated menu shut and dropped it gracelessly against the table, grinning. 

“I thiiiiink I’m going to get the sweet creme Nutella crepes with a side of those strawberry pancake pups,” he announced, as if Eddie cared. He wasn’t the server.

“That’s a lot of sugar,” he said from behind his menu neutrally. 

“Yep! Got a sweet tooth,” Richie said, looking up at the server as she walked up.

Their server was a middle-aged woman with dark brown waist length hair pulled into a braid down her back, a hooked nose, and dark, dark eyes. She was pretty, making Eddie wonder why she was working at a diner in a small town in Maine. She could easily be a model, but that wasn’t Eddie’s business. Two waters were placed on the table, and she mumbled something Eddie couldn’t quite hear. Apparently, she asked if they were ready to order, because Richie slide his menu over and began.

“Yeah, the uh, Nutella creme crepe things? And a side of those strawberry pups, too.”

Her attention flicked to Eddie once she had stopped writing, and he began with, “I’ll have a cup of coffee please.”

Richie shot him a look over the table, nose scrunched up. 

“And a 2/2/2, scrambled eggs, wheat toast, sausage, please,” he said sweetly, passing her the menu. She nodded and mumbled something quietly before turning away.

“Coffee at almost 1 a.m.?” Richie chirped, glancing at his phone as it lit up on the table, probably double checking the time.

“Yeah, coffee. I still have to study for a test tomorrow,” Eddie managed to keep his voice level, but he could feel the hunger and exhaustion creeping up on him. He got snappy when he was hungry.

A look of horror painted its way across Richie’s face and he covered his mouth, eyes wide. From behind his hand, he hesitantly asked, “you’re not in high school, are you? I haven’t been flirting with a minor, right? Oh my fucking god—”

Eddie scowled, squinting at that horrified man across him. “High school? Fucking high school? How old do you think I am, sixteen? I’m in college you fuckin’ moron.”

Richie, ever observant, watched him with a look of shock before, behind his hand, a smile pulled at the corners of his mouth, eyes scrunching up. Small, barely-there dimples creased under his cheekbones — a cute touch, Eddie thought, as if Richie had put them there himself. After a lapse of quiet, the pair staring each other down, he barked out a loud, high-pitched, surprised laugh. Eddie continued to stare with a scowl, brows creased. What the fuck was so funny?

“Oh God I just- you looked so mad and—” Richie couldn’t breathe or speak, too busy laughing his ass off over nothing. “High school!” He yelled, as if that explained anything to Eddie. No real explanation was offered because Richie was laughing too hard, tears pinching at the corners of his closed eyes. 

“You’re shittin’ me? You’re bustin’ my balls right? It wasn’t that funny,” Eddie snapped, no longer bothered with keeping his voice level. 

At some point, the waitress had slid a cup of coffee and a small bowl of creamers onto the end of the table, probably sometime between the pairs’ yelling. Slight embarrassment settled in his chest at the thought of her witnessing their buffoonery, but he didn’t allow it to fester. 

Thankfully there weren’t many people in the diner this late, because Richie was making a scene. Under the dreadfully poor lighting of the fluorescent bulbs overhead, the pale skin of Richie’s face had become tinted with a harsh red, painting across the planes of his face. Eddie scowled, looked away with an embarrassed blush of his own, and sipped the piping hot coffee. Though there was small cups of creamer in a dish before him, sugar packets to his left, Eddie opted for the eye-opening bitterness of straight black coffee. The heat burned his tongue, running down his throat like lava rolling from a volcano, but it was almost enjoyable. He could feel it dripping past his chest and into his stomach. It was a comfort compared to the chill of the outside.

Eddie, having zoned out, was staring across the diner, out a massive, surprisingly clean window. Rain had started to fall, leaving drops on the glass. The few people that were outside were rushing to cars or to take cover in buildings, deserting the sidewalks. Silently, Eddie was thankful they had gotten to the diner before it had started raining.

In his silence, Eddie thought about how he would beat Bill at his own game. Bill, somehow, managed to get people to come home with him — or go home with _them_ — almost every time he set his mind to it. It’s not that he was specifically attractive or had this amazing personality. As his friend, Eddie liked his personality, but nothing about him stood out as desirable in a partner. Then again, they had always been just friends, so it’d be weird if he thought about him like that, right? He reminded himself they were just friends. For the most part. There was one time, but it didn’t count, really. 

So, in his silence, Eddie wondered how he would win this. There was always the option of lying; he was good at that, and it wasn’t like they had Richie’s contact information to confirm it. He could just stay out late, “sneak in” the apartment, and then say he had left Richie’s after. Easy. 

“Eddie. Eds. Sweetheart,” Richie was sing-songing from across the table, tapping the surface in front of him to attract the other’s attention. It was the “sweetheart” that got Eddie, and his eyes refocused, flicking to Richie. 

“Yes?” Eddie snapped, letters crisp on his tongue.

“Christ, I was just going to ask—” he stopped, squinting at Eddie, “if your mom was free tomorrow night.”

Eddie scowled and rolled his eyes, dragging his phone across the table to check for messages. One from Stan, telling him they were heading home and they were leaving the door unlocked. Another from a classmate reminding him of the test tomorrow. 

“Cool lockscreen,” the voice from across the table, almost sounding genuine, hummed.

“Uh— yeah, uhm, thanks,” he replied quickly, not sure what to say.

“You don’t have to be so fucking awkward, Eds. I’m just trying to, y’know, be conversational,” the singer said, almost sounding hurt. When Eddie looked up, though, he was grinning. He was always fucking grinning.

“Do you ever stop smiling?” Eddie asked.

“Do you ever smile?” Richie countered.

“Touché,” he said thoughtfully, a lopsided half-smile on his face. He turned his head away, embarrassed — Eddie had never liked his smile much, always been self-conscious.

In high school, he had covered his mouth with his hands when he smiled. Stan would always grip his wrists and tug them away from his face, a challenging look on his face. Even so, he adopted other ways to hide it: turning away, looking down, rubbing his nose and scrunching up his face until his smile went away. 

After another beat of silence, Richie cleared his throat and went to speak, but stopped and looked up to the waitress, smiling. In her hands were their meals, stacked along her arms and in her hands. The plates were slid in front of them, followed by rolls of silverware and an “anything else?”

They hadn’t needed anything else, and Richie never got the chance to say what he wanted to say, because they dug into their food like ravenous, starving stray dogs. 

Half-way through his meal, Eddie sat back, hand on his stomach, and pushed his plate towards the end of the table to nurse his coffee. 

“Hey, so, uh, my friend Stan kinda drove me to the concert tonight and I don’t have a way to get home so—” Eddie began behind his coffee cup, looking up at Richie through his eyelashes. It worked every time, his puppy dog eyes, and apparently it worked quick, because Richie’s head snapped up and he cut him off.

“Yes, yeah, sure! I— my car’s back at the place, ‘round back, so we might have to walk but yeah, uhm, I can drive you!” Richie offered quickly, mouth still half-full, attempting a smile but failing.

Adopting a sheepish, pleased smile, Eddie nodded slowly, taking a sip from his coffee. “Cool. Thanks, Rich.”

————

Their walk to Richie’s car was as uneventful as Eddie had hoped. They’d paid, thanked the waitress, and chatted here and there on the walk. The rain had slowed to a drizzle, and the relative silence was filled by the hushing sound of cars rolling down the road, music playing from late-night bars and clubs, and the patter of rain on pavement. They didn’t need to talk, and it was peaceful, for once. Richie _did_ know how to stop talking, it seemed.

Back at his car, Richie stopped for a moment, tapping the roof of his car and sat, thinking. Eddie almost asked him what was up, but Richie looked at him from across the car roof and grinned. 

“I lost my virginity in the backseat of this car,” he said suddenly, as if Eddie had asked. He made a face and shook his head.

“That’s disgusting. And uncomfortable. And just… sad? That’s sad. You couldn’t do it somewhere cleaner?” Eddie asked, sliding into the passenger seat. The thought of doing anything sexual with anyone in Richie’s car made him cringe.

“Hey, don’t judge a man on his sex life. Where did you lose your’s, if you wanna be so judgy?” Richie countered from the driver’s seat, starting the car and cranking the heat up.

“If you really have to know, on my best friend’s couch, in his basement. It was comfortable and— and I don’t have a reason to be telling you this!” Eddie’s voice pitched a couple octaves at the end, face flushing at the memory and the surreality of telling _Richie_ about his first time. 

Richie laughed, loudly, at his words, but continued onto the main road.

“You’re gonna have to give me some directions here.”

Thankful he dropped the subject, Eddie gave him the directions as they went along, enjoying the ride. The music he played was soft, fitting the late-night-drive mood well. As expected of a musician.

————

Their apartment was off campus, settled a block over in a relatively nice part of town. Seeing this, Richie whistled and stopped on the road, looking up at the building. 

The building looked nice on the outside, even Eddie thought so, but the inside was a different story. Nothing ever got fixed in a practical, timely manner. The AC only worked in the winter and the heat only worked in the summer. If anything, it was clean and smelled okay, but there was not much security and the elevator got stuck more often than not. What else was expected of a college-ran apartment complex, though?

“Nice flat you have here. Mind sharing it for the night?” Richie asked, wiggling his eyebrows at Eddie.

Scoffing, Eddie moved to get out of the car without a response, no longer worried about being sugary sweet and giving him the time of day. He was home safe, could lie to his friends and win the little bet between him and Bill.

It just didn’t work like that, though, because Richie grabbed Eddie’s arm with a “wait—”, but retracted it immediately, looking apologetic.

“Shit, sorry, I just—” Richie began, mouth hanging open without any words. He looked flustered, embarrassed, a look Eddie hadn’t seen all night. Narrowing his eyes, Eddie slid back into the seat, leg still sticking out of the car. 

“Listen, I—” Richie began, groaning and huffing out a breath. “I had a really great time tonight and I _really wanna see you again_, so,” he stopped, looking at Eddie like he wished he would just get what he was trying to say. Eddie had his assumptions, but liked seeing the struggle, the emotion on his face. “Can I have your number?” Richie asked quickly, words running together.

Eddie, staring at him with wide doe eyes, blinked a couple times. He wanted to hang out again? Briefly, Eddie considered his options: lie about having a one night stand, or fake-date this dude, all while he thinks they’re actually dating? Eddie hummed in thought. If it went too far, he could always explain the whole bet situation. No biggie. No hard feelings.

“Yeah, sure. I… had fun as well,” he said, smiling softly. Richie seemed pleased, face lighting up as he handed his phone over, unlocked. 

Tapping his name and number into the phone, Richie took it back and smiled real wide, locking his phone.

“Pleasure doing business with you,” he said, watching Eddie slide out of the car. From the rolled down window, speaking to Eddie’s back he shouted, “off I go, tally-ho!” And sped off.

Much to his surprise, Eddie was smiling softly to himself, shaking his head, and made his way upstairs to his apartment.


End file.
